Chapter 17

"Easy, sweets, easy..." He calmed her.

"He will not find us here. He had never come here again for a long, long time."

"Are you sure?" She glanced around the room cautiously.

He nodded with an assuring smile.

"Take a look around, you'll enjoy some of very fine arts here."

She moved closer to one of the paintings to have a better look. Soon she was fascinated by the magnificent beauty before her. She found a series of old paintings in similar style nearby. With a further observation, she considered the arts seemed to be made by a young artist, probably a child. A very talented one. A thought flashing in her mind. Was it him who painted them all? She remembered how beautiful his painting she had accidentally seen yesterday.

"Oh, you're bruising my pride, sweetheart." Magnus' hurting voice came from behind.

"Ashton doesn't need one more person to admire him. He already got more than enough."

She turned back to soothe him, and found him smiling at her.

"I'm teasing you. He painted this series when he was about twelve or thirteen. He is so damn brilliant, isn't he? I've told you there's nothing he can't do."

Despite his rivalrous feeling towards his cousin, Magnus was genuinely fair to him. She stole a glance at him in admiration. They went from one painting to another. With every painting she found, she felt more and more interested.

There was something gloomy in every painting, like a long unspoken sadness. Every object in the pictures was lonely, like it was longing for something that would never come. Even the houses and the castles in the paintings were sad, as if they had been abandoned and forgotten for so long. She ran a finger along the canvas, trailing an outline of a castle. She sensed sorrow and loneliness, longing and desperation. Silent weeping was underlying beneath all these melancholy artworks.

The image of the duke flashed in her mind. What lay beneath the untouchable facade? Art was a reflection of the inner self of the artist. Apparently someone who could make a highly affecting artwork had the ability to feel, to experience some strong, deep and complex emotions. Not some cold, superficial person who could not see beyond the surface.

She gasped at a painting of a proud smiling little boy in his upper class attire. Right hand on hip, his left foot was lifted to a higher stony path. There were hints of mischief and rebellion in his expression.

"Magnus, this is you!"

"A clever observation, sweet. This was me, over a decade ago, longer I think."

"He captured you very well!" Her eyes sparkling with amazement at the artwork. There was a warm ambience that distinguished the painting from the other. Like it reflected the affection of the artist to the object, like it was radiating a strong yet gentle emotion. It was the only painting that decorated with bright and vivid colors, and held a whole different mood.

"Yeah... actually, we were ... pretty close when we were younger, before that tragic incident. Then everything changed in one night... That's what I mean to tell you, the shameful secret my family had buried long ago..."

"Tragic incident??" She turned to him. "What happened? Had you been hurt?"

He shook his head. "No, but he had. Deeply, I think. He had never been the same again ever since..."

He lifted the painting from the floor, studying it thoughtfully.

"Ashton and I used to be so close before. We were about the same age and there was no other boy of our social footing in the neighborhood, so although we were opposites in character, we were simply inseparable. He used to be a dutiful child. He was solitary and introvert, while as you know, I was a real troublemaker. I was rebellious and extrovert. I didn't like being alone, I didn't like being restrained by rules and regulations, and I had an inclination to throw myself into mischief."

"However, all the differences didn't stop us to be best friends, no... brothers actually... We did everything together. We played, we fought, we played again, then fought again, we got into mischief together..." He smiled at the childhood memories.

"He loved to draw, to paint just like his father. I remembered the days he painted me. It took a week to finish this painting."

"His father was also a great artist?"

"Absolutely. Here are some of his paintings that still remains. The others had been destroyed, for some good reasons ..."

Magnus guided her to a series of paintings leaned against the wall. They were the mature version of Ashton's paintings. Brighter, with bold lines and vivid colors. The style was rather similar in some ways, but the feel was entirely different. His father's paintings were vigorous, showing enthusiasm and somehow rebellious, it reflected in the contrast of colors and the unusual, sometimes ill-matched composition. Obviously he wasn't a conventional artist.

A sensuous painting hidden between a stack of canvas caught her attention. It was a painting of a nude woman, sitting by her back, one of her naked leg exposed entirely, most of her figure was stolen by the shadow. Seemed like the darkness was going to swallow all of her, but her red long hair refused to be lost into it. The vivid, rich-textured red locks were striking to the eyes, surpassing the dark mood of the painting.

"Who was she?"

"Miranda Yves, the late duke's mistress. The duke claimed her as the best love he ever had. His true love."

It took her a while  to perceive the information.

"And the duchess, did she accept it?"

Of course not, she answered her own question. It reminded her of her mother, she was sort of the woman in the painting. The duchess of Livingston surely didn't accept her, but what could the poor lady do?

"The late duke was not like any other man you've ever known, dear. He was a real wild child, a free spirit. He denied the rules, society or any social system. He lived by his own free will. He neglected his obligation as a duke, the highest authority in this land. All he cared about were these, his passion for art and the love of his life."

"He never loved the duchess. Like most of the ton, their marriage was arranged by both families for mutual benefits. However, he managed to accomplish one significant duty, to provide an heir. Soon after the duchess bore a son, he went abroad with his mistress, pursuing his dream, to see the world and learn from the world's most prominent artists. He never wrote to his family, he never came home for years... Ashton and his mother were completely abandoned..."

Such a cold, lonely kind of upbringing. It would have been left any child feeling undesirable and perplexed. She felt a mixture of guilt and empathy. She had spent her childhood in a blissful love of a family. She wondered if she had stolen it from the persons who really deserved it.

"Nonetheless, the duchess loved her husband unconditionally. She never cheated. There were many chances, and even more willing men. But she believed one day the duke would come back to her. She believed eventually he would love her back. She was waiting for him with complete faith, over the years."

Ava couldn't imagine a person could have such a total devotion in a one-sided love.

"And did she actually get what she wished for?"

"Sadly not. When Ashton was fourteen, the duke finally came home after traveling around the world. The duchess was overjoyed. I remembered her face when she received the news. She was running over the corridor like a child. She had never been happier. It was the first time Ashton met his father. He was rather awkward than happy. The duke joined us for dinner. We thought he was going to stay after leaving his family for a crazy long time. But he didn't mean to stay longer than a few hours. Later I knew, he couldn't leave Miss Yves alone in this town. The woman was waiting for him at an inn. She was never far from him. She followed him everywhere, France, Italy, even an exotic place like India..."

"What happened next?" Ava got terribly curious, she knew the previous duke and duchess had passed away years ago.

"The duchess refused to let him go, but he insisted to leave. They had a terrible fight in the bedchamber, the servants heard screaming and shouting... Suddenly there was a gunshot, followed with another one..."

She started to figure out what the tragic incident was.

"I remembered seeing my father ran upstairs to their bedchamber, and mother got me and Ashton to her room and locked the door. Father found the duke and duchess had died... The duchess' maid testified later. A story we believed as what might happened that night. The duchess threatened to shot herself if the duke left her again. He tried to snatch the gun, she accidentally shot herself during the fight and get killed. The duke went mad and committed suicide afterward..."

For all her life, she never experienced something as painful and dark. The bleakness of the story pulled her into the gloom.

"I cannot imagine what he was feeling that time... how could he ever deal with it. He lost both parents in one night. And it happened all of a sudden."

"Me either. I would have gone mad if I were him. I would have been out of control. But he managed to stay calm as father told him about the tragedy. I remembered his face became very pale, like he was bloodless, and he cried. I saw tears rolling down his cheeks, but he remained silent. He continued to show the unemotional face. I thought the trauma had shocked him to the level that he ceased to feel, had deprived him of any emotion, but I was wrong."

"The funeral day, unexpectedly Miss Yves came to attend. Father was furious and intended to banish her at once, but mother stopped him. Mother said the duke would want her to be there, and we must respect his wish for one final time. That woman was really devastated, for a moment I felt pity for her... Then I saw Ashton, staring at her like the devil, I swear if a look could kill, the woman would have died rightaway. His eyes were burning like hell. He said nothing, did nothing, but it was the last time I saw his eyes filled with emotion... then he changed all the way to be a distant emotionless bastard until now."

She imagined the young lord giving a black look at a woman who stole his mother's and his own happiness. Was it the way he looked at her too? A sort of Miranda Yves, a woman who took away other persons' happiness for her own well-being. A sort of her mother, her sister and every woman who could be traced in her family lineage.

"You see, my family is not free from flaws too... My father had done very well in hiding the fact from the world. He announced that the duke and duchess had died in a carriage accident, and he kept the witnesses silent with a considerable sum of money and threat. But the truth will always be there, and Ashton will always know it, a stain of his father's blood coursing through his veins, no matter how dignified he might look now. And no matter how rich and powerful he is, he cannot afford to forget it or pretend it never happened."

"Magnus! Don't say such a thing about him. He had suffered a lot."

"And he shouldn't offend you at every turn. Don't you feel disdain for him?"

"I think I will never be able to hate him after I know what he had been through."

He gazed at her intently and his eyes became glowing with his tender smile.

"You know, if there's something more beautiful than your lovely face, it would be your soul." His voice smooth as silk and he moved closer.

"It never stops to amaze me, every moment, every single day..."

He tangled his fingers through her hair, letting it tumble down her shoulders. He stroked the locks gently before he bent to kiss her.

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